


Distorted Truth

by paperflowers



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Gen, Mindfreak, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-04
Updated: 2012-11-04
Packaged: 2017-11-17 17:10:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/553917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperflowers/pseuds/paperflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You think you know your world?  Are you sure the one you wake up to really is the one you left behind?  We're about to find out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Distorted Truth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Menirva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menirva/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Forfeit](https://archiveofourown.org/works/539150) by [Menirva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menirva/pseuds/Menirva). 



> This is my first Inception fanfic! It's different from all of my other fanfics since it has no actual characters in it. There are five easter eggs in this - that is, if you find any and have a prompt you would like to read feel free to ask me to write it. All you have to do is say what the references is and where it's from and then give the prompt. I will continue to do this until all are found so please don't say them all at once! XD
> 
> This work is gifted to Menirva for the lovely fics Clipped, Caged and Forfeit. Although this fic was written before Forfeit, there were some slight edits which ensures this fic now eludes to Forfeit. Menirva is a highly recommended author.

You think you know yourself.  You think you know your reality.  You think you’re safe whilst you’re sleeping.  You think it’s safe to slip into slumber, to fall asleep in your comfortable bed beneath the covers, alone or with company.  Reality will still be there when you open your eyes to half shut curtains and pale yellow light..  You think it’s the same reality you shut your eyes to yesterday.

 

_You’re wrong._

 

As your dreams captured your imagination the entire world changed.  In a moment all you understood changed.  There is nothing in the universe which is yours anymore: not that lamp, not the food in the freezer, and not your relationship with the neighbour’s violent cat.  Nothing is your creation.  Your eyes, your ears, your hands, see, hear, and touch my world.  This is my chaos.  This is my order.

 

_It happened while you were sleeping._

 

You think your rules apply.  What makes you think they ever did?  In the real world, just whose rules were you playing by?  To whose tune were you singing?  To whose beat were you dancing?  When the lights go out, and, you’re seeing things running through your head, are they yours or someone elses?

 

_It was never your world, was it?_

 

Yet when you sleep you expect the rules to change.  When you sleep it’s your head so it’s your creation.   You created the atmosphere, the ambience, and the tone.  The carpet is wool, the decor is bourgeois and the world is your own.  When you sleep you want the world to bow to your orders, your demands.

 

 _I got there first_.

 

The air you breathe, the lights you see, the items you touch are mine.  I made them.  I know them.  I own them.  They are mine.  The things you taste, the scents you smell, the textures you touch and the pleasures you feel are not yours to control.  You’re a tourist here.  Trapped in my spiralling web you slink down further.  Twisting and turning in a tangled mess of vines, snares and traps, the right way up is forever lost.  Dizzy and alone, the only person there to catch you is me.  When the foundations crack, buckling under the pressure, either the old ones must be reinforced, or new ones formed. 

 

_You’re in the palm of my hand._

 

It feels real.  You believe it is.  This reality cannot be fake. You’re life is not a toy to be played with, messed with, fucked with until you can’t tell what is from what was and all the differences in between.  Your mind cannot be manipulated.  You aren’t sport for dark crows.  You aren’t here for my entertainment.  You’re here to live.

 

_Are you even here at all?_

 

While you’re sleeping I rule the world.  I play God.  I play the Devil.  I play the Advocate.  I play the Messenger.  I play the Victim.  The world forms around you determined by my careful whim.  I have cultivate your life, determine where you should go and who you should see.  Your life follows a schedule you call fate, constructed by thoughtful design.  It seems natural because you’re used to following orders and playing by the rules.  But the rules were made to be broken, perverted, even shattered.  As the clock ticks and your here with me, my mental prisoner lost in a universe calculated to make you bend and break.  Time tocks. The world you left behind slips away until all that is left is the bitter fading crackle of a sepia washed memory receding further into the stormy twilight.   

 

_Whose reality is whose?_

Is it any less legitimate if I made reality?  Is it somehow less real?  If you can’t tell the difference what does it matter?  It’s in your head.  The pictures blinking, stretched and sometimes muddled appear like flowers blooming in the sun.  You see the early stages and the finished product, but never the moments in between.  It’s a bud, and then it’s a flower, fully grown and blossoming beautifully, cradled close to the heart. 

_It feels real_

 

Doesn’t the feeling matter most? If this feels genuine, and the other world feels genuine so does it matter a damn you’re asleep in one?  The world is whatever you make it

_What if it was never real?_

 

You doubt yourself.  You try not to but you’re no longer a tourist and no longer experienced.  You’re a Professional.  It’s shiny isn’t it?  The world brings prestige.  It brings rank.  It brings approval and soon that’s all you have: a title.  What you specialise in becomes all that you are.  You are nothing else.

_Reality isn’t enough anymore._

There’s more to reality than bricks and mortar, labels and categories.  There’s more than sleeping, eating and having a lot of good sex.  There’s more than money.  It’s more than benign, inane everyday life you suffer through.  Soon all you can think, believe, and know it is more.

_You can do anything_

 

You can go places you’ve always wanted: to the highest peak of the highest mountain, the lowest pit in thrice damned hell or the glittering caves beneath the palace.  You can be in cities and buildings and parts and countries that will never exist.  The world is made up, populated by wailing, screeching projections.  They are all here, inside your head because you can’t handle the truth alone.  How could you?  The world isn’t an empty landscape.  It’s filled with people, men women children, memories and so much more.  They look and feel true.  But they are mental representations of a person.  Of you

_How do you know you’re not a thought in someone else’s dream?_

 

Your totem.  Your totem will tell you.  Only you know it.  It’s feel, its peculiarities cannot be replicated or faked.  It is yours and yours alone.  Only you know it.  Don’t let anyone touch your totem.

_And when the failsafe fails?_

No solution is foolproof.  No plan is without falls.  No theory has no loose ends, flapping limply in the wind.  Nothing is for certain.  It is just not possible.  Gravity works down the way right?  So how do you explain the bits of the world where it doesn’t?   It’s the exception to the rule.  But the world is full of them.  Full of niggling doubts.  There is only conclusion you can come to.

_Reality is an illusion._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! ^_^


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